Knives and Lint
by Little Mae
Summary: One cop finds out just how fickle chance can be.After a potentially lethal situation at MCU,the Joker isn't changed at all. Her life on the other hand takes a turn for the worse.Being coerced and manipulated as a pawn really isn't her cup of tea,after all
1. Chapter 1

Just a little something I wanted to try out, present tense and all that. After watching the Dark Knight 3 times, I had to let the ideas out somewhere. So obviously, this will contain spoilers. This particular scene is right before Comissioner Gordon gets back, after they trick the Joker. It might turn into a series of connected little stories, or it might just be one big one. I'm not sure yet, but please keep reading. And review, of course.

**Positively Lethal**

The Joker stands, insolent and sneering, in the middle of a dozen cops at the MCU. He's handcuffed and bruised, and he still sends a chill through even the most hardened men. The caked white makeup along with the dark circles painted around even blacker eyes, the scarlet paint smeared haphazardly across his grinning lips…

They look at each other, not knowing how to start. None of them want to touch him. Joker rolls his eyes, baring his teeth in a gruesome smile.

"So what can I do you gentleman for, hmm? I won't be able to, uh, entertain this evening, seeing as I am…" a breathy giggle, "incapacitated. At the moment."

Jack Reeve, the youngest cop there, was sick to his stomach. Just looking at the man, knowing how many innocent people had died because of him…his friends_, _some of them. He looks away as the clown catches his eye. He can't meet that curious, knowing gaze. Like all of his darkest secrets are on display, and that smug look somehow validated them. Jack had never wished death on anyone except for _this _murderer, this psycopath who left victims like candy wrappers strewn over the cracked sidewalk of his sick playground…

He doesn't notice as Joker shuffles forward, smacking his lips together in thought. The irons around his ankles clank together. Jack doesn't know that he is made weaker, more pliable through his emotions. That he only makes the game more interesting.

"Huh. You look nervous."

There's dead silence as the man –boy, really – looks up in surprise, then horrified realization dawns. The clown face splits in two with a wide grin.

"You're new to this, aren't you. Let me give you…let's call it a helpful hint, shall we? These guys," the Joker jerks his head at the men behind him, never taking his eyes off the cop's youthful face. He steps closer. The rest of them stand motionless, powerless. "They don't get it. Give them a cause, and they'll fight like crazy for it. Know what I mean? Fight to the death. And for what? Trying to _control things_, makes 'em feel in charge of their petty, insignificant-"

A punch to the gut. One of the older guys, his face twisted with anger. And suddenly they all close in, like hungry wolves to a kill. They forget that their prey is defenseless. They forget that this is what he thrives on. Chaos.

His laugh sounds more like a wheeze as a burly cop grabs strands of oily hair, jerking his head back roughly.

"Give a guy a chance, will you?" he snickers breathlessly as they pull various knives out of his pockets, slicing through fabric carelessly.

"Watch it, that vest is _Armani_!"

Th shrieks of laughter echo within their heads, and several cops back away. They can't take it either. He watches them go, chafing his wrists against the handcuffs that hold him captive. Finally only a few uniformed men stand in front of him, surveying his clothes. He wets his lips, cocks his head to the side.

"You missed a few."

The sound of choking and coughing comes from the other room. There's a few murmured whispers of "It's Jack," and one more leaves the starkly illuminated room.

The Joker smirks at the two cops left. "Want to give it a go?"

All of their heads turn as a third figure enters the station. The captive's painted mouth opens in a silent "O" of surprise as a higher voice rings out.

"You guys need some help with…that?"

She stands a full head and a half shorter than the two men, a mass of dark curly hair cascading over her shoulders. She stares at the Joker with two parts disgust and one part horrified fascination. He notices that her eyes are an odd shade of hazel. He can't tell if they're brown with a hint of green or mostly green with a few flecks of brown. For some reason, it angers him that he can't place the color. There's a handgun and cuffs attached to the belt slung around her slim waist. She notices that he's staring back at her with his permanent grin and turns away, disturbed.

"I think we got it under control, Jess," one of the bigger men says, his eyes trained on the twitchy Joker.

Jessica follows his gaze and flinches back as the Joker winks at her, motionless for a second. She can't look away a second time, as he rolls his head from side to side like a boxer preparing to get hit in the face.

She continues on, her voice a little weaker this time. "Are you sure, Chris? Because Gordon told me you needed as much back-up as possible for-"

"I'm right here, y'know," the chained man interrupts. "I can hear every word you're _saying. _How did that thing, that…rhyme go, again? Oh yes," he continues in a horribly fiendish soprano, "sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

He looks thoughtful for a second, his tongue darting to the corner of his ruined lips. "What's the girl here for? Trying to _tempt _me into spilling all my deepest, darkest secrets?"

Joker ducks down and avoids the punch headed towards his head, cackling. "So, _Jess_…May I take the liberty? … What's a sweet girl like you hanging around all these thugs for?"

She lays a hand on Chris's arm. No one fought her battles for her, ever. This wasn't the medieval ages, for God's sake.

"First of all, Mr. Joker, I am just as capable of doing my job as any of these men here…"

"I'll bet you are," the Clown Prince sneers.

"And second, you may call me Officer Williams." She looks him straight in the eye, businesslike, trying to hide the tremor in her hands and her voice.

"What a _cheeky _little thing! How _re_-freshing. You remind me of someone…"

Jess speaks loudly over him, addressing no one in particular. "Does he have any of his weapons left with him?

"Several," Joker answers. An exquisitely timed pause. "_Officer_."

She knows he's mocking her. The anger rises over her fear. She flushes angrily, her pale cheeks flooded with red.

"Such a delightful color," he crows, gesturing with his head for her to come closer. "Come get them yourself, princess. Don't worry, I don't bite."

Against her best instincts, she takes another step forward. She waves away her colleague's protests with one small hand, resting the other hand on her holster.

"Don't try anything, Joker," she warns. "I'm not afraid to use a gun."

He raises one eyebrow and then bursts into giggles. "Are you serious?" he laughs, bending over at the waist in hysteria. He nearly falls on the floor as she watches him, hands on her hips. Now she's just pissed off.

"Did I say something funny?"

He straightens back up, still snorting with laughter. "Nothing…at…all. I'd love to see a demonstration; you look positively lethal."

And he goes off again, throwing his head back and chuckling.

"That's it," she says, stepping up to him with only the slightest hesitation and dipping her hand into the lining of his jacket. She couldn't _stand_ when people made fun of her just because of her size. Somehow, he had already exploited the one weakness that always got her. Jess worked hard to get where she was, and now some clown thought he could embarrass her in front of everyone…well, she would show _him_.

He quickly quiets down, watching her go through his pockets with some vestige of amusement. With his hands behind his back and his feet shackled to the floor, he couldn't do much except leer at her. Which he does, to her ever-growing feeling of unease. Still, she ignores the sounds of warning behind her (they didn't expect her to listen anyway), and continues searching for any other concealed weapons. The petite cop wrinkles her nose – he smells like gunpowder and smoke and that musty scent she always associated with death. She can hear him breathing…in out, in out…

"Ha!" Jess pulls a small blade from inside the sleeve of his shirt. Another from the small of his back.

"Bravo," he says dryly, narrowing his eyes at her. She steps away and takes a deep breath, flinging her hair over her shoulder. "Had enough for today, babyface?"

"Not unless you have any more knives."

"Keep looking, then."

She does so, checking around his collar. She doesn't want to go anywhere _near_ his pants. An officer steps forward, about to pull Jess away, when the Joker shakes his head at him. "Nu-uh, having _way _too much fun over here. In fact," he brings his voice down to a husky whisper, "I think she likes me."

Forgetting who he is for a second, Jessica turns her face to his and gives him her best I-don't-think-so look. He pretends to look offended. She freezes as he brings his face close to hers, her eyes wide.

"She loves me, she loves me not," he sing-songs into her ear, breathing in deep. She bites her lower lip but doesn't move. Her legs are frozen – she's sure that if she'll collapse into a heap if she tries to unlock her knees. Jess has never felt so alone in her entire life. _Move! _she shouts silently at her feet. But they won't budge. He nudges her cheek with his nose and she resists the urge to scream.

"Check my shoes," he tells her. She can hear the smile in his voice as his breath fans out across her face. She sinks to her knees before him as if in a trance and pulls a pocketknife from his sock. She hears the click of guns behind her and stands back up, trying to look reassuring.

"It's alright, I'm fine. He can't have any weapons with him, you know that…"

She looks back at the Joker. Her face feels like a frozen mask, like she too has chalky makeup running down her cheeks. Her stern voice is ruined by the underlying fear. "Is that all?"

He's looking at the knife in her hand, his mouth working as if he was just about to say something. Jess frowns.

"What is it?"

"That's my favorite," he says, nodding at the blade held carelessly in her grasp. "People take themselves so seriously. A couple of slices with that thing and…well, they just look so much _happier_."

Jessica can't keep the disgust off her face. She drops the knife on the table like it's contaminated. She knows what he wants her to ask. She doesn't disappoint.

"What happened to you? Do you…do you remember, at all…?"

"Funny you should ask. So I have this shrink, right, who doesn't know his head from his ass, and he tells me-"

"Williams, Gordon's gonna be here soon and this freak has to be behind bars."

Joker doesn't look very pleased with the interruption. At all. In fact, the look on his face is completely murderous. Jess takes another step back, feeling a shiver down her spine.

"Okay, then. I don't think there's any more."

The captive raises his eyes to the ceiling and jerks his head downward, towards his pants pocket, whistling. He's happy to oblige – having a weapon isn't really top priority at the moment. She sighs and glances at him cautiously, reaching out an arm to pluck the handle from his pocket. It doesn't budge.

"You might have to pull a little harder than that, beautiful."

She grumbles under her breath and braces herself for a trick. She yanks hard and it finally flies out, along with a grenade. The men draw back, horrified.

The Joker shrugs, raising one bony shoulder. "Oops. Forgot that was in there."

The minute Jess stands back, the two cops hustle him into general holding, gripping his arms none too gently. He turns his head, searching for that girl. He's decided that her eyes aren't quite as confusing when she's afraid.

"I'll have to tell you about the scars next time."

"Don't count on it, Mr. Joker," she calls back, hands on hips again. She turns away from his terrifying smile and runs a shaking hand through her hair. _Time to go home and take a relaxing bath. Maybe a scalding hot shower. _She runs her hands up and down her arms, feeling dirty. Not for the first time, she contemplates moving far, far away. The Joker's voice resounds in her head.

_She loves me, she loves me not_…


	2. Something like Death

Another chapter that popped into my head. This is set about a day after the end of the movie. Remember, reviews equal love!

Ch 2: Something like Death

In the darkness, you couldn't tell. You couldn't tell that the white mask was melting glacially down his cheeks, that the red paint covering his mouth had almost faded, that the distorted smile that stretched itself across his face looked more like scar tissue than a clown's painted lips. No. In the darkness, he was the same man who, just yesterday, had basked in his freedom to cause chaos. He was the same man who terrorized Gotham and turned their precious White Knight into a freak.

He sat with his arms crossed over his knees, his head resting on the wall behind him. His legs were brought up to his chest in some weird semblance of a fetal position. He was buried in complete silence. And then there was sound. Oh, just a little something…just a soft intake of breath…the Joker's eyes snapped open, although he maintained the pose of relaxed indifference.

A beeping sound. His cell door split open, and he licked his lips lazily as he stared up at an unusually burly guard with a tray of food. The light from outside his cell highlighted a gold ring on the man's finger. He looked tired and overworked. Joker noticed these little things. They mattered. It would be easy this time. Too easy, actually. He let out a muffled little giggle.

The guard stared at Joker and through him, placing the food on the floor and mechanically turning around. But the Clown Prince of Chaos had the beginning of an inkling of an idea. It wasn't a plan – oh no, officer, anything but that – but it festered in the back of his mind. Getting out wasn't a problem. That wasn't what he wanted now, anyway. They would all dance at his command, sooner or later. Or was it burn?

"I'll bet your wife is pretty."

He said it slowly, his careful pronunciation of the words coupled with the strange cadence of his voice making the simple phrase indecent. The guard's shoulders stiffened, his hands clenched into fists.

"Do you worry about her? It's a crazy world out there. Murderers and lunatics all over the place. And then they come…here. So really there's no need to worry. Smile a little. Turn that frown, ah…_upside-down._"

The guard – was it Michael? Joker had forgotten – turned back around, his face set in the most unpleasant scowl. Oh, how sad. He had incited anger. No matter how many times these guards were told _not _to talk to the psychopathic clown, they never learned. He was in _holding_ at _Arkham_, like he couldn't do anything in a cell. You think they would learn, sooner or later. Nope, they didn't want to drug him with the big stuff until he _talked_ to them. They thought it would be beneficial to his mental state. It was the kind of irony that he could appreciate.

He smacked his lips together and looked up at the tense figure through strands of oily hair. "Laughter is good for the soul, you know."

The guard took another step forward, still silent. It was like baiting a very stupid bear. "Would you like to see a magic trick?"

"I'd like to see you go straight to hell," Michael said bluntly.

"Ohh, oo, it burns," the Joker panted, gripping his chest with a grimy hand. "I thought we were friends," he said theatrically, snorting with laughter. "But wait…no, that was someone _else's _wife…it's amazing to me, what they'll _do_ when they're begging for their lives…"

The guard lifted him up by the ripped collar of his vest and slammed him against the wall. He grinned and went limp.

"What a sick sonofabitch-"

"I do…have to object…to your use of obscenities-" He was breathless with anticipation, the pain was nothing, _nothing_. He welcomed it…it meant that he was making a _scene_, he was getting to them, his very own brand of violence…they were forced to become less than human. Not all of them were as incorruptible as the bat-man. He had a soft spot for the hopeless do-gooder – it was like a teacher's impatience for his student who never quite learned their lesson correctly. He laughed out loud, thinking of it.

Good ol' Mike punched him in the face, hard. "You don't deserve to live."

Joker shook his head experimentally, then ducked down and rammed it right into his Adam's apple. The man's face crumpled, and he made a whimpering noise. Like a child who was getting kicked in the ribs over and over and over. He let go of the smiling clown and stepped back clutching his throat. Tears were running down the big guard's face. With an agility that belied his disjointed walk, Joker stepped behind his victim, grabbed the back of his neck, and slammed him neatly into the wall. Forehead first.

Michael slumped to the ground, holding his head and making those pathetic noises. The victor stood over his motionless body and cocked his head to the side.

"You're insane," Michael wheezed, blood trickling through his splayed fingers.

"Y'know," Joker said, putting a foot over the guy's neck, "I never get off for self-defense. In court. It's always insanity. That's why they put me in the loony bin, don't you get it? Except I don't think _I'm _insane. We just have different _values_, see? You all think that there's some meaning in life, that there's some big…I don't know, _epiphany_ waiting for you. Something…something like death gets to you people. Correct me if I'm wrong, hmm? Unless you feel differently."

The other man cringed away as that horrible visage grew closer and closer.

"I really tend to doubt it," the Joker sneered. "Now tell me, _where is the Batman?_

"He's gone," he gasped as his supply of air got shorter and shorter. "He killed…a coupla cops and…ran. Killed Dent, too. No…no one's seen him…People think," he took a short breath, "People think he was working with you all along…"

Mr. J narrowed his eyes, pulled back a bit. His tongue darted out at the side of his scarred mouth as he thought.

"Harvey Dent is dead? Where was he found?" he asked slowly.

"Yeah, he's dead. Don't…know where he was found."

"Would he? Did he break his rule? How exciting! I toldhim, I _told_ him what they would say. Ha. Working with me. How…entertaining…" Joker clapped his hands together in glee, while the man under his foot rolled his head uselessly from side to side. He was beginning to turn a lovely shade of puce, making a strained groaning noise.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I _hurting_ you?" the Joker said sardonically, bending down and grabbing his victim's face roughly with one hand. "How about now?"

And he dug his fingers deep into the tender skin on both sides of the man's throat. Michael's eyes shot open an instant before his head slumped to the side. Joker examined his face, patting his cheeks almost softly. He would die if someone didn't reach him soon.

"Too bad," he muttered, searching the guy's pockets for anything useful. "It could've gotten interesting."

He found the card key that had opened his cell door, humming softly to himself. He resisted the urge to start skipping. He wasn't done yet…something very _urgent _had just come up. The Joker had to find his beloved and greatly missed partner. Batman. The flying, crime-fighting rat in kevlar and bat ears. He wiped a bloody nose on his sleeve and surveyed the unconscious guard. The clothes were too big for him to fit into, unfortunately. He would just have to stick out like a _sore thumb_. He snickered, pushing his hair out of his face with the back of his hand. Too bad these guys didn't carry knives…

"A_ha_," the prisoner said, and pulled a handgun from the holster strapped around the man's waist. Poor bastard never had time to use it. Joker pulled a face at the unfortunate Michael, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes.

"It's like, uh…the early bird catches the worm… Aww, now you're angry with me. Anger is such an _exhuasting_ emotion, that's why I'm always smiling." He paused, pretending to listen for an answer. "You're a sharp one, aren't you? …I'm not going to _apologize_, if that's what you're thinking!

He pulled at the edges of the cop's slack lips, forming a forced smile with his gloved fingers. Joker smiled down at him fondly, condescendingly. "There's a boy. Be good, you hear? I'd give you my card, but the damn leeches took them all."

With another nasty chuckle, the Joker swiped the cardkey through the automated lock and waited until it turned green. He glanced up and down the (surprise!) empty hallway with exaggerated slowness. Seeing no one, he started to tip-toe comically down the hall, his shoes making little squeaking noises on the polished tile. He suddenly froze, hearing footsteps other than his own. The master of deception wasn't that worried – the hallway was shadowy, and only lit in certain places. Apparent_ly_ high-end criminals like him didn't get many visitors. He could hear her…yeah, the voice was definitely female…he could hear her speaking into a handheld radio. The Joker hid in one of the darkest parts of the hallway, right next to what seemed to be a closet.

"Officer Burns? We're going to move the patient into more permanent lodgings-"

He raised his hand and flipped off the voice. Those mind-numbingly boring politically correct bureaucrats really could suck the fun out of everything. Arkham was a house full of crazies. The Joker didn't belong there, no sir. Now, if they would give him a _chance_ he would tell them where they could put their "permanent lodgings" and their "self-help counselors". Riiight up his –

"- Yeah, backup hospital personnel are bringing the equipment. Apparently he can talk his way out of anything…actually, Mike should have gotten in touch with you by now."

_Yes!_ He had gotten the name right. Score _one _for the freak…

"Wait. You're telling me no one's heard from him? _Mother_ of…okay, let me go check. Hang on, I don't get the right frequency up here..."

The footsteps broke into a jog. They came closer and closer and…_there._

The first thing the Joker noticed as he clamped a hand over the woman's mouth was that she was unusually small for an officer of the law. The second thing he noticed, as he held semi-automatic to her temple, was the somehow familiar smell of her hair. She squirmed against him, managing to plant an elbow right in his stomach. He shifted so that the cold steel barrel was pressed directly below her chin. Joker heard her draw a shaking breath, and he could have sworn that he had heard that _exact _sound before. He opened the closet door behind them and shoved the girl inside, an iron arm still wrapped around her chest.

"It's you," she said. Jess didn't have to turn around to see the scars that stretched his mouth into an unstoppable smile. His face was burned in her memory. And this time, he wasn't chained to the floor.

"Ohh, I know you now," he answered, nodding his head right next to hers. "_You're_ the girl who stripped me down and _cruelly_ searched every nook and-"

"Did you kill him?" she asked slowly, her eyes still closed.

"Kill whom? I've killed _bunches _of people; you're going to have to narrow it down for me."

"The guard, the guy who went into your cell…"

He cricked her neck at an uncomfortable angle, her hands pinned to her sides so that she couldn't grab her gun. He did it for her, dropping it on the ground next to them. Along with her radio.

"That guy? He wasn't very nice to me at _all._ He's alive, for now. But I don't want to talk about him anymore. Look, we're going to play a little game. Go along with it, and your stupid friend will get help in time. Start _screaming_ and…I start shooting. Since you're direct_ly_ in my range of fire, it might not go so well for you. What'll it be?"

"I'll help you," she whispered, her face strained. "But only if you promise not to kill anyone."

He snorted, rolling his eyes in amusement. "What am I, Batman?"

The Joker's eyes roved over the different equipment in the closet, still holding the girl's arms with suprising strength. "Listen, beautiful, I _like _you, I do," he dragged her closer to the shelves as he murmured into her ear. "But I never promise. Because then people get so _upset _when it doesn't, uh, work _out_, and I'm a sensitive person. I can't deal with the pain of knowing I've let someone down. You understand."

He lit up once he spotted one of those make-shift cot/stretcher deals. She could tell he was getting excited from the rise and fall of his chest behind her.

"Look what I foun-_d_!" he crooned, pulling it out from under a pile of mops. He grabbed a white sheet from the top of the shelf and put it on top of the cop. Jess grimaced as she began to figure out what his plan was. Her nerves on edge, she tried to inch away from his loosening grasp, tried to reach the knob so she could get out and at least notify someone…

"Where do you think _you're_ going? I thought I made it _clear-_" he slammed her up against the wall and the breath whooshed out of her, "what would happen if you didn't _play the game_. Hmm?"

"Okay, fine, just…just let go of me…"

He let go and she slid down the wall, her jaw clenched tightly to keep from crying. She looked up at him with a hopeless expression as he gathered up other things, shoved them in his pockets. A sheet went on top of the stretcher, as did some restraints.

"See this?" he said. "This is me…_not _having a plan. Impressive, no?"

She could only nod silently as he pushed the stretcher out of the closet, holding her close to him. All her training went out the window when this lunatic was breathing down her neck. He was so incredibly unpredictable that she fully expected to die at any second. Her family wouldn't be surprised. They had expected this from the moment she decided to become a cop in the most corrupted city possible.

"This part's important, so listen up." She wasn't concentrating on him, that _voice_ – she was thinking about her Aunt Linda's reaction when they got the news about her body being found in the sewers of the Narrows somewhere. _I always said that girl had a death wish…Lived in that dingy apartment all alone and it's a wonder she survived this long…well, at least we have Eric to carry on the family name and all…_

"Hey. Look at me. _At_. Me. Hello? Anyone in there?" he was holding her face tightly between two gloved hands, and she could feel the imprint of that gun on her cheek.

"Sorry," Jess said, meeting his gaze bravely. "I was just…never mind."

"Good answer. I'm just gonna take _that_," he unclipped the handcuffs at her waist, "and do _this_," and he snapped one cuff onto her wrist and the other onto the stretcher. She looked in mute horror at her trapped hand. He couldn't help giggling at her shocked expression.

"Funny, right…uh, _Jessie_. No hard feelings? Good. First, you're gonna wire in to your partner and tell him everything is, um…_under control." _ She cringed away from him at the demeaning inflection in his voice. Away from his demented smile, away from the cold steel now digging into her side, away from the whole crap _situation_…

"Then,_ I'll_ pretend to be a poor mental patient in need of guidance and a straightjacket…while _you _wheel me outta here without anyone noticing. See? Fun _and_ easy."

She jerked her hand hopelessly against the cuff, hating the cold metallic sound that spelled out her doom. He was there, of course, taking her other hand and flopping it up and down in his impatient grasp.

"None of that, my darling accomplice. Be brave. Or you could just…well, _pretend_."

Jess raised hopeless eyes to his dark ones. They weren't _as_ crazy as she thought they would be…they were cold and calculating and horribly invasive, and almost _too_ intelligent. But he knew what he was doing, he knew who he was. And he loved it.

He shoved the radio up to her mouth, turning it on for her. Now his hand was on her thick hair, in her curls, petting, teasing, _tugging_…

"Ouch!" she yelped involuntarily.

"Shhh," he said immediately, pulling even harder as the radio crackled to life. The Joker dipped his head closer to hers. Jess shivered as she felt the rough scars slide across her skin. "Do it right," he whispered in her ear, the tone of his voice suddenly…serious. That scared her more than anything else.

"Officer? I can't…can't hear you too well…"

Jessica took a deep breath. "Everything's fine, Mike had to go to his kid's school or something, family emergency. He said he tried to call in but it wasn't working."

"What about the Joker?"

She was sure that everyone within a 2-mile radius could hear the frantic thumping of her heart. The man behind her certainly did – he had his hand clapped over his mouth to stifle his laughter, all fun and games again.

"Still in his cell." More static. "Burns?"

"Got it," the voice replied. "So no need for alarm?"

"Nope," Jess answered, her voice steady. She felt like it couldn't possibly be her talking so calmly. Great, _now_ all her training kicked in. "We'll move him in about half an hour."

"Thanks, I'll pass on the message."

The connection was shut off abruptly. She cut her eyes to the side to see the Joker tugging down one dark banana curl, a gleeful look on his face.

"Boing," he said, letting the curl spring back as she grimaced at him.

He hopped up on the stretcher, giving her a sickly smile. "Let's get this show on the road."

She took a breath that hitched in her chest as he threw part of the sheet over her hand, hiding the cuff as well as his face.

"Oh wait." he popped his head out of the sheet, startling her. "Go get my jacket."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"My _jacket_, you stupid girl. The purple one."

So she trekked back to the cell (dragging the attached coat along with her), got his trench coat, and handed it back to him. Needless to say, he wasn't a very grateful person. He accepted it with a hiss, punctuated by mad rotations of the gun still in his hand. Jess continued down the hall with his incessant whispering floating up from underneath the sheet.

"Hurry up, hurry _up_, hurry up…"


	3. Infection

K, so here's a little first-person from Jessica. I hope you guys like it. And please, please review. Yes, begging is pathetic, but pretend reviews are like...um, air. You wouldn't want me to suffocate without finishing the story, right?

Oh, and I've forgotten the disclaimer. Don't. Own. the Joker.

Ch 3: Infection

I had never imagined that the last few minutes of my life would be occupied with pushing a psychotic, murdering jokester down the mostly deserted halls of Arkham Asylum. While being chained with my own cuffs to the very stretcher I was pushing. I searched frantically for the emergency exits while nodding and smiling at every white-coated person I passed, clucking sympathetically at the restless body underneath the white sheet. They glanced at me suspiciously at first, but looked mollified once they saw me flash my badge and mouth the words, "Commissioner Gordon." I felt like I was going to throw up, the bile rising to the corners of my mouth faster than I could push it back down to my stomach.

I was aiding the most dangerous man in Gotham, helping him escape from the one place that could hold him in. It was violent coercion, sure, but I still hated myself. I became a cop to _rid_ Gotham of evil, not _add_ to the corrupted cesspool of villains. It was cowardice that kept me from screaming out, cowardice that kept me from shooting myself the minute he grabbed me. Because for some stupid, naïve and completely unprecedented reason, I thought he might let me live. I didn't dare think about the poor man lying unconscious or dead in Joker's unoccupied cell.

There. The red, pulsing letters that trumpeted my death as well as the repeat disintegration of order in Gotham. I passed one more intern, young-looking. About my age. She looked up at me curiously, and I shrugged, keeping my head down. She let me pass, obviously on her way to the ladies' room or something. The self-hatred grew stronger.

_Idiot! Coward! You're worse than he is. He only kept you alive for as long as he needed you…_

My face flushed and I swallowed convulsively again and again, dry-heaving as I reached the EXIT sign and pushed it open. It occurred to me that there was only a matter of time before the relay point realized I was not where I was supposed to be. Black spots appeared in front of my eyes as I weakly dragged the cart to a blind spot behind the ominous-looking building. There weren't any cameras back here, anyway. The security in this place really sucked. I squeezed my eyes shut, hyperventilating, when I felt the feather-light touch of his finger tracing the veins in my hand.

"But you were doing _so_ well," he said, throwing the sheet off and stretching like a cat. He hopped off the stretcher and cracked his neck once, twice. I could feel his eyes on me where I stood rigid, ready for death.

"Have you ever thought about becoming an actress? I think you must've missed your calling, princess…"

The endearment sounded fake and syrupy coming from his red lips. I opened my eyes and stared hard at the ground, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being the center of attention. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip contemplatively, eyebrows furrowed at the obvious lack of spirit on my part.

"Thought you had a bit more spunk than…_that_," he gestured at my lowered head with one accusing finger.

I looked up at him icily, although my body still felt like dead weight. My voice came out high and garbled through frozen lips. "Get it _over with_ already! What are you waiting for?"

He unlocked my hand from the cuff with the key he must have squirreled from my belt, taking my upper arm roughly and dragging me along. The gun made another expected appearance. It was starting to get dark – past dinnertime.

"What? What am I waiting for _what? _Questions, questions…" he said impatiently, breathlessly from behind clenched teeth. He was still bizarrely smiling.

I dug my heels in and got a shot in the ribs as punishment. "Well, aren't you going to shoot me?"

He stopped for a second and sized me up from underneath stringy strands of faintly green hair. The Joker shook his head once, quickly, like a dog getting something out of their ears. "Not now. Too loud, someone would hear. And frankly, I'd like my…_resurrection_, so to speak," a malicious gurgle of laughter, "to be a bit more, ah, personal."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out this latest nugget of information. I was going to die either way. Just another casualty in his growing list of conquests. "Personal? What, just because I'm a cop you think that-"

He sighed and gave my arm a yank. "Don't you ever shut _up? _You're really, _really _bumming me out. Way to ruin the party, J."

My eyes widened and my mouth opened almost by itself. He closed it with two fingers, pretending he hadn't noticed my expression. "And since you've been such a bore, you get to climb first._"_

Through my haze of almost-unconsciousness (I was still breathing in painful, shuddering gasps), I saw the iron fence looming above us. I turned to him in disbelief, shaking my head back and forth mindlessly. The memories of that bright, sunny day intruded into the present. I had fallen off an iron wrought fence when I was 10 while in the process of climbing it. The pointed tip had caught under my arm and ripped a gash requiring 30 stitches. I had never forgotten it…the blinding pain, my favorite t-shirt wet with sticky blood. The sun pounding down on my upturned face, turning my body into dust on the cracked pavement. I couldn't do it, I _wouldn't_…

"No. No, please…"

He tilted his head to the side, took my chin roughly in one hand to stop my head from moving. Slapped my face a couple of times. "Something wrong, kitty cat? We're kinda running out of time, here…"

"The fence…" I stuttered out uselessly. I still honestly didn't understand why I was still breathing. What message was he trying to send by abducting me? Sure, I was one of the few female cops in the police force, but…and then something occurred to me that hadn't before. _Oh_.

"The fence? It's not electric; the cheap-_o_ officials won't give them the funding for it. So what're you afraid of? Heights? Sharp pointy things?"

"I...I fell off one, w-when I was a little girl. I was lying on the ground, looking up…up at the sky, thinking I was going to _bleed_ to death…"

"_And?" _Joker looked bored. The tone of his voice brought me abruptly out of my daze. I focused on the horrible scars crawling up his face and felt a little foolish over my own story.

"_And,_" I snapped, "it was a traumatic experience. And I can't climb that fence. So go ahead, you can shoot me now."

"So eager to die. Do you wanna know what I think?" he wrapped his arms around my waist, shushing me as I squeaked with fear. The rapid thrumming of his heart sent vibrations down my spine.

"_I _think. That it's time for you to grow…_up_," with a grunt, he boosted me up to the rough bars, holding me until my fingers fumbled and caught at a horizontal bar halfway up the fence. My legs locked around the sharp metal. I was completely frozen, like all my bones had locked into place and were never, ever going to work again. I saw a blur of purple as my captor hopped up beside me. I reached out blindly, grasped a fistful of fabric. It was a silent plea to a madman.

_Help me help me oh god, I'm dying. I'm dying I'm dead I'm… _

I saw his head turn sharply at the same time as a painful alarm cut through the air. It sounded foggy in my ears. Muted, almost. He made a low, irritated noise that was so different from his speaking voice. An animalistic growl of impatience. I didn't care. My body had frozen into ice and someone was going to have to break me into a million little pieces.

Something seized my waist again. I was about to push the offending object away when I realized that the Joker was holding me with one arm and climbing higher with the other. How freakishly strong _was_ this guy?

"So," he huffed. "_Why_ do you want me to kill you so much?"

"I don't want to be in one of your…home movies," I closed my eyes as we reached the top. People were shouting below us. I even heard dogs. And he was laughing. _Laughing._

"Don't worry, you'll be something more than tha-_t,_" he said, shifting his body to the side. "Open. Your. Eyes," he added sharply, his grip uncomfortably tight.

I opened my eyes to see the ground swing dizzily beneath me. He was going to drop me.

"Ready?" he whispered into my ear. "One…"

I prayed that my legs would remember what to do when they hit the ground.

"Two…"

I waited for three and found myself falling through the air. There was a snicker from above, an unrepentant "Oops."

I hit the ground hard on my side and leapt back up as Joker landed beside me. Shots rang out as he grabbed my arm again and ran. I couldn't do anything except run beside him, favoring the side I had fell on. I was most likely his accomplice, from their view of things. I didn't blame them for thinking that way. That's what he had intended to happen. If anything, the man knew how to skewer appearances, to twist his weaknesses into his strengths.

It was full dark now, and I had no idea where he was leading me. We kept running, ducked through a couple of alleyways and mostly deserted streets. No one went out around here after dark unless they were looking for trouble. My legs were shaking by the time we finally stopped running and he let go of my wrist. Delirious with exhaustion, I felt rough brick at my back and leaned my head back, panting.

Of course, _he_ was there. Not respecting personal boundaries, as usual.

"Was that so hard?"

"Where are we?" I rasped.

"The Narrows," The Joker replied, completely at ease with our dangerous and disintegrating surroundings. Looking in the same direction as he was, I saw the silhouette of Arkham not far in the distance, separated from the rest of degenerate society by that fence. The blinking lights of cop cars surrounded the place. I wished I could go back and help them. No, scratch that…I wished I had died along with my colleagues the day Joker blew up the MCU. It would have been more honorable and much less painful than what I expected to happen now.

"Isn't it _magnificent_?" he breathed, his voice high.

The words weren't making sense in my muddled mind. I turned my head to look at him – he was staring in the opposite direction, towards a staggering drunk. "Excuse me?"

He swept his arm out in a grand gesture, as if he was offering me the whole world. "Look. The dregs of Gotham, scum beyond all salvation…the addicts, the…the burn-outs, the thugs."

The Joker turned to me, eyes burning within the melted black paint. He raised a finger, the scars on his face bunching as he grinned. "_That's _what Gordon sees. What you've been _trained _to see. Like, ahh, like a little puppy chasing after it's tail. _No_," his voice grew lower.

The drunken man's faltering footsteps came closer, and I breathed out my nose as I realized that he wasn't drunk at all. He had a knife buried in his stomach, his front stained with dirt and blood. Both his hands curled weakly around the protruding handle, his eyes glassy with shock. The Joker's tongue darted out as he batted the wounded man's hands away, yanked the switchblade out. Blood pulsed from the entry point, and he fell, twitching, at our feet.

"Thank you, sir_rr_. So self-sacrificing. Anywhoo…Where was I?"

I couldn't stop staring at the bloody blade dancing merrily through the air, held aloft by one gloved hand. Textbook medical info ran through my mind. _Cauterize the wound_…_keep infection from spreading by_ –

He shook me roughly, grabbing the back of my neck. I felt the cold, jagged edge of the knife against my fevered skin. "Stay with me here, poppet. I _said_…that art is relative. To some people…rat-infested shit hole. To _me…_well. It's my best piece of work! My grand opus, my own discordant _opera_. And that's," another shake, my teeth rattling in my mouth, "what I've got to make the Batman understand. He can't fix it, see? It's already mine."

The Joker tenderly placed the flat edge of the blade against my cheek, wiping it clean on my skin. The dead man's blood burned there, drying on my face with unbearable apathy. I didn't say a word. He squinted at me, humming a requiem under his breath.

"You look a little pale. Someone die or something?"

I watched as he went into hysterics, wheezing like an asthmatic chain-smoker. I realized, a little belatedly, that it would probably help my chances of survival if I laughed along with him. My nerves were shot. Before I could understand what was happening, I was laughing. I wasn't really sure what I was laughing at – I'm sure a trained professional would tell you that I was hysterical and also in shock. All I know is I couldn't stop. The poisonous sound poured from me like I had been holding out for years and years. I couldn't stop.


	4. Dangerous Game

So in case any of you were wondering, Jess won't turn into a mary-sue. I have bigger and better plans for them. Unless my mind decides to spontaneously switch directions, in which case you should still keep reading. Thank you to my lovely reviewers, I would name you all but I'm pretty lazy. Hope you like this (rather short) chapter.

Ch 4: Dangerous Game

A man had just died in front of me, and I hadn't done anything to help him. I was being overpowered by a psychotic killer whose face looked like the twisted experiment of Marilyn Manson and a wayward make-up consultant. With the fashion sense to match. I was a _police officer _for fuck's sake, not a goddamned damsel in distress…

"Y'know," the Joker began, tossing the switchblade back and forth between capable hands, "I'm being, uh, modest here, but I can be a _scream _when I want to be. _You're_ laughing, aren't you?"

He must have seen the horror on my face. He bounced on his toes, obviously excited. "Listen. I'd love to talk this over…your obvious lack of humor, that is…love to help you with it, but we've got more important things to discuss," he drew the "s" out like a snake, complete with the tongue-flicking,

The Joker paced around me, locking my already frazzled mind into a state of desperation. Flight or fight response. Neither was going to work here if he didn't want it to.

"You thought, that I didn't know about your heroic status as the _survivor_, as the…what did they call it? The police force's little ray of hope. _Ha_."

I closed my eyes, unable to look at his mocking, sneering, triumphant face.

" 'Cause, when I blew up that police station with one, itsty-bitsy phone call…you were already half-way out the door, weren't you? Enough with all the nonsense about you risking your life to drag that cop to safety. You would've been burned, bad. A freak. I mean, you wouldn't be as pretty as me, but still…" he grabbed my face again, prying my eyelids open, "See? The scars? Don't be jealous, it's not very becomin-_g_. No, something else happened that night. And it wasn't, it isn't what they think it is. _Is it?_"

I shook my head slowly. He was right. I didn't deserve any of the recognition I got for that night. I was already out of the door when the station blew up behind me in a sadistic blaze of light. I was in the street, turning my back as the flames billowed out of the exploded windowpanes. I only looked back after I heard a scream of pure agony, after the heat at my back had subsided. Only then did I run back in, saw a guy on the floor. Smith, his name was. I couldn't forget that horrible look he gave me, with blood running down his grey face. I had tried to save him, but he was too heavy. It wasn't enough. If I had just waited just a couple minutes…maybe I could have done something more…or maybe it would've been me on the floor with my head bashed in.

When the rest of the force returned, they saw me, covered in ash but largely uninjured, holding the dying man's head in my lap. It wasn't enough. And now I was paying for my cowardly actions.

He gave a rumble of fake sympathy as I put my head in my hands. My hands curled into claws and I only vaguely felt the pain as my fingers dug into my scalp.

"How do you know?" my voice was hoarse.

"You might call it a hidden talent," he said flippantly. I flinched back as he put his hand out, grabbed the back of my neck. He steered me away from the wall, and I had no energy to fight him. Our footsteps echoed in the empty streets.

"Don't worry. Things always get worse before they get…" he tapped his chin in thought with his other hand. "No, that's too cliché, I think. And _very_ untrue, at least in your depressing case."

I remained silent and let him babble on about my shortcomings in a shockingly childish monotone. I contemplated breaking loose and running, but there was still the outline of that gun in one of his pockets (a very small part of me was still able to disapprove of the blatant disregard of firearm safety rules). And even if he wouldn't kill me, he could do a lot of damage with that gun before my body gave out. He led me into a dilapidated apartment complex, straight past an older man passed out on the first floor.

We walked past the crying of kids, the screaming and shouting that emitted from behind certain doors. The unpleasant smell of humans living in close, dirty quarters hit me like a jackhammer. It wasn't that I was unfamiliar with the stink, but this was 50 times worse than my own hole of an apartment building. It didn't surprise me that no one noticed a man slathered in clown make-up dragging a cop up the stairs. These people had their own problems – they sure as hell weren't going to stop for someone who had never done anything for them.

As we hit the third floor, I saw a young pregnant woman…no, a child really…struggling up the steps, her breathing labored. She stumbled on the last step, and I reached out instinctively to steady her. I was close enough, even with the Joker's fingers curled around the back of my neck like a metal clamp. He saw what I was trying to do and gave me a wicked grin, hustling me forward and knocking the girl to the ground. I steeled myself not to look back, just in case he decided to pull out that gun and shoot her on a whim. I had already heard how shockingly amoral he was. Now I had the privilege of witnessing it first-hand.

I wanted to hit him. No, I wanted to do much more…I wanted to hurt him until he couldn't hurt anyone else, until that devil-spawned, expressive face was stilled forever. And then I felt sick.

The Joker gave me a half-smile. "Shouldn't have gotten knocked-up by her _sleaze-ball_ of a boyfriend!" he practically sung. "I hope _you_ have more sense, princess."

I sunk my teeth through my lower lip to keep from saying something I would regret. He kicked open a door, revealing it to be strangely empty. He tossed me on the floor like a rag doll and spread his arms wide. My knee connected with the floor and black spots swam in front of my vision.

"Home sweet home," he said, just as a gunshot sounded outside the window. He took a deep breath in, inhaling like it was the sweetest perfume. "Can't you smell that fresh _air_?"

Yup, a bona-fide maniac. It wasn't the crazy that scared me to death, though. It was the uncanny intelligence in his darting eyes, the senseless violence that was a devastating product of his over-active mind.

His back was towards me. "C-_cat_ got your tongue, hmm?"

I still lay on the floor, formulating some plan, _any_ plan. I wouldn't become his puppet. Obviously my physical abilities meant nothing here. And he was a master at mind-games. If I could only catch him off guard…

He still hadn't turned around – he was too busy staring out of the dirt-encrusted window, drawing patterns with his finger. I started to crawl, so slowly, towards the door. Inch by agonizing inch…I was almost there…

I couldn't do anything but gasp as he whipped around and casually emptied a round of bullets into the floor centimeters from my foot. Fiery, agonizing pain as I realized that a bullet had nicked my toe. The Joker twirled the gun around one finger and smacked his lips together, completely satisfied.

I gritted my teeth and ignored the throbbing in my foot. My jaw ached from the constant pressure.

"Was that really necessary?" I ground out, sitting up and grabbing my shoe with both hands. I fully intended to throw it at him. Anything to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off his face. He looked back at the window and blew the dust off of the grimy pane of glass as if nothing of consequence had just happened. I eased my foot out of the bloodied sneaker, breathing hard. The Joker turned languidly to face me, pushing his greasy hair back out of his face. He looked like he was melting, the face paint slowly but surely sliding off his features. He nodded towards the shoe lying next to me as I assessed the damage to the side of my foot.

"I'm not getting you _new_ sneakers," he said. "Look, you ruined my carpe-_t_. It's all…" he searched for the words, twirling his hands in the air aimlessly, "_icky_. Didn't you know that girls have _cooties_?

We both looked down at the moth-eaten, half-disintegrated throw rug that I was currently bleeding on. Seething. I was absolutely spitting mad. I took the shoe and chucked it at him. I had a good arm – he moved quickly but it glanced off his shoulder. He stood stock-still, his expression thoughtful. My inward cry of victory lasted only a second before it turned into dread and a repetitious chant of _stupid stupid stupid stupid_ . That was how things usually worked with my temper. It left as quickly as it came, leaving me to deal with the unpleasant consequences. And here, the consequences were deadly. The Joker sucked his cheeks in before bending down to my level.

"You wanna play a game?"

"Does this game involve pain?" I asked quietly, realizing too late that I sounded like a smartass.

He held a hand out and made a so-so gesture. "It depends. How good are you at, uh, dodging bullets?"

I ducked, already realizing what he was planning to do a split second before a shot whizzed over my right shoulder. I stayed down, blood pounding in my head. He laughed.

"Pretty _good_. But then again…"

He scuffled closer to me, grabbing my curls in two gloved fists. "Then again, I wasn't really trying. Unless you prefer to have a couple more holes in your body, I'd suggest you_ keep still_. Understand?

I nodded slowly, unknowingly violating his rule of _keeping still_. He sighed heavily, shaking his head like a disappointed parent.

"Tell me; were you dropped on your head as a child?"

What was he on about now? My head was fuzzy and my toe was dripping blood and I couldn't keep up with his spastic comments. I didn't know what he wanted me to say. Unfortunately I had waited 5 seconds too long.

"Bzzz," he intoned, sounding like a game-show host sucking helium, "Wrong answer." The Joker shook me roughly, my head snapping forward. Whiplash.

"Try again – you've still got a chance to win half a million!" his voice grew progressively higher.

"No," I said cautiously, waiting for him to explode. He waggled a finger back and forth in front of my face and hummed that irritating tune on The Price is Right.

"Yes?" I guessed hopelessly.

"Wrong answer _again_!" he cackled, his nails digging into my scalp.

"What's the right answer, then?" I could hear the hysteria in my own voice, my body hunching in on itself.

The Joker shrugged. "Who knows?" he answered, and I felt a sharp blow to the back of my head before I succumbed to the blackness dancing inside my eyelids.


End file.
